


Chicago Gone

by WPAdmirer



Series: Chicago Stories I [20]
Category: ER, X-Files - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-21
Updated: 2011-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-15 20:05:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WPAdmirer/pseuds/WPAdmirer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ah, that mean guy's still got poor John Carter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chicago Gone

**Author's Note:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTES: I got tired of waiting for some good John Carter slash, and there's never enough Skinner fic to suit me.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: It's not the author's intention to infringe upon or profit from the characters created and owned by Chris Carter, 1013 Productions or the Fox Network, nor Warner Brothers and NBC. Skinner and Carter were borrowed temporarily and returned almost immediately.
> 
> SPECIAL THANKS: To KiMeriKal and Crysothemis for beta reading and friendship.

It was hot. John could feel his clothes sticking to his body all over. His face felt too warm, and sweat trickled down his temples, and down his sides across his ribs. The sun blinded him with its brightness. Must be nearly noon, he thought. He blinked and through the haze in front of him he could see the sun reflecting off the water. Ocean? He must be on the beach. That's why it was so hot. He shifted uncomfortably. He should take off some of these clothes. He had on way too many clothes for a sunny day on the beach. It made it hard to breathe.

A big dark figure rose up out of the water. Wide shoulders, tanned skin over thick muscles. Walter. John Carter smiled. As Walter moved closer he could see the water dripping off his body. Walter was nude, and droplets of sea water caught in the hair on his chest and his groin. Walter knelt beside John on the sand. He reached out and touched John's face. His hand was cool and damp. It felt so good. He wanted Walter to help him take off some of his clothes. He was so hot.

"Hot," the word came out like a croak and John startled awake, jerking his head back and slamming it against the concrete post behind him. There was a cool hand on his face.

"Fuck," said the voice. "You're burning up."

Something pressed against his lips and he realized it was a bottle of some kind. He tried to pull away.

"It's just water. Drink it, asshole."

Water. John Carter opened his mouth and cool water poured in. He swallowed as fast as he could. He was so thirsty. His throat and chest hurt.

"That's enough. Not too much at one time." The bottle was taken away. "You're really complicating things, you know. You die on me, the nanocytes won't matter. I'll have to kill him to survive."

John heard the words and on one level understood them, but on another, they barely grazed his consciousness. His head hurt and it hurt to breathe. He was really hot. He ached all over.

"Come on, Doc, give me an assessment. What's wrong with you?"

John panted. Short breaths didn't hurt as much. His head was really pounding. "Hot," he said finally.

"Yeah, I got that much. You're running a fever. Why? What the fuck's wrong with you?"

John shook his head. "Hurts to breathe."

There was silence and then he felt hands pulling at his clothing. Maybe the man was going to help him take some things off so he wouldn't be so hot. His shirt came out of his pants and cool air caressed his abdomen. He sighed with pleasure at the change in temperature.

"Oh, shit."

He felt a hand press against his stomach and pain radiated out in every direction. John didn't hear himself scream as much as he felt it in his chest and throat. Tears ran down his face. The hand went away and John began to pant faster, trying to clear his head, get some air into his lungs, make the pain recede just a little. Even just a little.

"Fuck."

Steps moved away from him. He heard the tapping again. Plastic on plastic. What the hell was that?

"Doc, are you listening to me?"

John turned his head toward the voice. When had he moved back so close?

"I gotta get you to a hospital, but I can't have you talking to anyone, can I?"

"I won't, please." John Carter felt his face flush with shame. Begging. God, he was begging again.

The cool hand touched his face. "I've got to protect my investment. This is a paralytic. I'm sure you're familiar with it. Won't hurt, but you won't be able to talk or move."

"Oh, God," John Carter felt his heart start to race. If they did surgery and didn't know about the drug, he could suffer permanent damage. "Please…don't, I won't talk. I promise. Please…anesthesia."

"Already thought of that. Don't worry, Doc. I want you alive and well. You're not worth dick to me otherwise."

John felt the prick of the needle, and soon he could feel his body's reaction to the drug. He couldn't help the panic that seized him. "No!" The sound came out like a moan. He felt his hands and feet being freed and his body being laid flat on the concrete floor. Then his eyes were uncovered. The light seemed to stab through his eyeballs back into his brain. He groaned again, but couldn't turn his head away from the brightness above him.

Then there were other voices and hands.

"He's been given a paralytic," the man said to the new voices.

"Jesus, better intubate him."

John felt his head being tilted back and the cold metal as his tongue was lifted out of the way for the plastic tube to be inserted into his throat. Tears streamed down the sides of his face and rolled into his ears.

Another sting and he realized an IV had been started in his right arm. He was lifted onto something softer than the floor. Movement, noise. He couldn't really see. Shapes, colors. None of the faces were clear. Some were darker than others, but his eyes didn't focus. He needed to let them know. He had to let them know.

Call Walter Skinner. F.B.I. Please. Please. Someone help me.

But not a sound came out and his hands didn't move and finally the darkness settled in around him once again.  
***

Familiar sounds. John Carter heard familiar sounds. Hospital noises. Beeping monitors. Voices. The smell of antiseptic and bleach. The tube was still in his throat. Why hadn't they taken it out, yet? He should be breathing on his own.

He finally dragged his eyes open and saw white ceiling above him. He blinked, trying to clear the fuzz from his vision. It wouldn't go away. He tried to turn his head, but couldn't. What was going on? If he was in a room, out of surgery, the drug should have worn off by now.

A hand touched the side of his face. He couldn't see who it belonged to. Then he heard the voice. "Take it easy. Your heart rate just jumped. You don't want the nurses coming in here and sedating you again. Come on, calm down."

The tears started again. That's why he was still tubed. That's why he couldn't move. The man still had him.

"We're going to be getting out of here soon. I've told them that I want you transported to a private nursing facility. You've been out for over twenty-four hours. Surgery went fine. A broken rib lacerated your liver. Imagine that. You must have thin bones, Doc."

The hand stroked the side of his face gently.

"Of course, I'll be taking you somewhere very safe. For me. Don't worry, though. I'm going to be much more careful. I promise. Can't have dear old Walt coming after my ass, can I?"

John Carter closed his eyes. This nightmare was never going to end.  
***

It hurt when they moved him. From the bed to the gurney, from the building into the ambulance. Every time they hit a rough spot, when the collapsed the frame to lift him into the vehicle, all of it had sent waves of pain through him. They had bagged him as they moved him, then connected a portable respirator to the tube after he was secured in the ambulance. Everything had been carefully orchestrated to make sure he couldn't speak. But it also meant he couldn't tell them how much it hurt. All he could do was lie there and cry.

As the ambulance began to pull away, John Carter wondered if any of his patients had felt this helpless as they were being carried away. Had any of them been as frightened? Something new to worry about with each one. Oh, God, he hoped he'd be able to worry about patients again. Please, God, let me survive this.

He was taken to a house, installed quickly and efficiently in a bed in a room that faced the back yard. He could see the lawn from where he was lying. He still hadn't seen the man who'd engineered all this.

A male, dressed all in white, attended him. A nurse apparently. Probably hired through a private home care agency. The man didn't speak to him. He simply cared for John's body and then left. The paralytic was wearing off. Instead his wrists and ankles were restrained and the breathing tube kept in his throat. Between those things and the post-surgical pain, he wasn't going anywhere.

The hand touched his face and the voice spoke to him. "You're a lot of trouble, Doc."

The hand was gentle, but John didn't trust it to stay that way.

"And I haven't even figured out how to use you, yet. Isn't that a bitch?"

The hand patted the side of his face and then he heard steps moving away, then the door closing. John looked out the window. It was still daylight. Squirrels were chasing each other up and down the trees. It looked like it was still cold out.

He had no idea how long since he'd been taken. He had no idea where he was. All he could see through the window was a little square of back yard, hedge and several trees. The bed was turned toward the window so that he couldn't see anyone coming into the room.

John Carter closed his eyes and tried not to think.


End file.
